Room That Knows Me

I have spent so much of my life within these four walls that sometimes I wonder if they know me better than the people who have loved me. It’s a strange thought. How a room can remain exactly where it is while the person living inside it becomes someone entirely different.

There are people I have loved who have never stepped inside this room, yet somehow, pieces of them live here. I don’t really remember when I started writing things down. I just know that at some point, writing became something I did whenever I had too much on my mind and didn’t know where else to put it. Most of the time it was just me in my room trying to make sense of whatever I was feeling that day. Over the years, I’ve written about so many things. People I used to know, friendships I thought would last, days I wanted to remember, and days I honestly couldn’t wait to be over. Some entries were written while I was crying, others when I was happy over something so little. There were also times when I wrote simply because I was bored and had a lot to say about nothing.

Perhaps years from now I will find myself somewhere else, maybe in another room, beneath an unfamiliar ceiling. And I will read these entries and remember the girl who used to sit here while trying to make something out of everything she could not quite put into words. I’m not sure why I’ve suddenly decided to put them somewhere other than my own notebooks. Maybe I’m just getting older and becoming a little sentimental about things. Or maybe I just don’t want to forget what it was like to be the person who wrote them.

Anyway, this is my room archives. It’s nothing particularly special. Just years of thoughts that were never really meant to leave my room.

And somehow, here they are.